


"Spa" Day

by angelsfalling16



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, But not exactly, Getting Together, M/M, Pining!Baz, SnowBaz, Spa Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:06:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfalling16/pseuds/angelsfalling16
Summary: Baz asks Simon to go on a spa day with him, but Simon seems to misunderstand the meaning of it.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 199





	"Spa" Day

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation I had with the always lovely wo2ash, who this fic is dedicated to, and by this post: https://cas-fell-for-dean.tumblr.com/post/190132245954/rosewhipped22-its-always-sunny-in-supernatural

**Baz**

Simon and I are studying at my apartment this weekend. My roommates are either out of town or out partying, so we have the place to ourselves. Which means that my books and notes are spread out across the living room floor, and Simon is spread out across the couch pretending to be reading his science textbook.

It would be much more convincing if he’d turn the page every once in a while, but I can see that he’s tired of studying. We actually did spend a good hour or so earlier today quizzing each other for a couple of tests that we have coming up, so I think he’s just all studied-out.

We should take a break soon, walk down to the café down the street and grab some lunch. He is probably starving by now, and I don’t have anything in my fridge that is all that edible. I intended on going shopping today, but I have been busy with Simon all day. I will make a trip to the store tonight after he’s gone back to his own apartment.

I finish taking notes on the chapter I’ve been reading for my psych class before dropping my pencil on my notebook and stretching. A break really would be nice.

I look over at Simon, and he appears to be watching me, but he quickly returns to staring at the book in front of him. This time, he does turn the page, which makes it a little suspicious.

I take a moment to look him over. He’s stretched out on his stomach with his textbook propped against the arm of the couch in front of him. His long, freckled legs hang off the side of the couch.

It’s not necessarily warm outside, but it’s the warmest day we’ve had in a while. I was only mildly surprised when he showed up wearing shorts today.

After three years of knowing him, I’ve realized that he runs warmer than most people, so on the sunnier days, he can almost always be found wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even if it’s barely above 40 degrees out. Simply looking at him makes me cold and want to grab a blanket to throw over him.

Simon and I met when we were roomed together during our freshman year of college. Together in that small dorm room, tensions were always high. We were constantly at each other’s throats, and more than once, it came to fists.

After that year, I decided to move into an apartment with a couple of roommates, away from Simon, but we kept running into each other on campus and in classes.

At first, our interactions consisted mainly of hostile glances and harsh sneers, but after a while, we started trading pleasantries.

I even began to enjoy seeing him, hoping that he would be there every time that I turned a corner or walked into the student union.

It began as simple hellos, but after a while, we stopped to catch up and see how the other was doing. Mostly, I wanted to see if his roommate was as bad as he was, but it turns out he began sharing an apartment with his best friend.

Talking to him like that was so much easier than it was to talk to him in our dorm. It was like the space allowed me to breathe a different air from him, and that allowed my feelings to both grow and to not feel so urgent.

Falling for my annoying, incessantly messy roommate was one of the worst things that I’ve done.

Even though I couldn’t stand being around him, I also couldn’t’ stand the thought of being away from him.

I was grateful when my cousin suggested that we get an apartment together with another friend of ours because I had no excuse not to get out of that dorm room.

I never thought that Simon and I would have to deal with each other after that or that we would somehow become friends, but we weren’t just seeing each other for those brief moments.

It was like the universe was throwing us together, and it was hard to ignore.

We ended up in the same study group one night during sophomore year, and at first, because of the way that I had seen him study (or rather, not study) in our dorm room that first year, I thought that he would be someone who would bring the group down by either not participating or by asking questions that only someone who had not read the material would ask.

Instead, he turned out to be a great addition to the group. Better even than a few of the others who had definitely not done any of the reading and basically expected us all to summarize it for them.

Simon did participate, though, adding useful input, which would have once pained me to admit. He stumbled over his words at times, and rather than cruelly make fun of it like I once would have, I was patient with him and glad that the others were, too.

After that, we started to meet up to study a lot, bouncing ideas off of each other for essay topics and quizzing each other.

Sometimes, we met up with a larger group, but more and more often, we started meeting up alone, to the point that it seems like we meet up every weekend, just the two of us. And on the weekends that we don’t study together, I feel myself aching with the need to see him.

It’s ridiculous. I should be over this stupid crush by now.

Only, it isn’t just a crush. Because I’m completely, hopelessly in love with him. And that isn’t going to change.

I tried hating him. I tried ignoring him. I even tried just being friends with him. But none of it has worked. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get over him.

I am completely enthralled by him.

Simon clears his throat, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts. I realize that I have been staring at him for far too long, and I wonder how long it has been since he noticed.

Tearing my eyes away from him, my face grows warm as I start to gather my scattered study materials.

“Do you want to go for lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yes!” Simon practically shouts, jumping to his feet. “It feels like it’s been years since the last time I ate.”

I shake my head at his over exaggeration and fight a smile, knowing full well that he ate a huge breakfast this morning, just like he does every morning.

I grab my jacket from the hook by the door, and Simon and I walk in silence down to the café. Then, I order the largest coffee they have and half a sandwich while I swear Simon orders half the menu.

I’m even more convinced of this when he has haphazardly stacked all of various food items on our usual table which is far too small to hold all of it. (I’m pretty sure a couple of items end up sitting in his lap, but I don’t comment on it.)

I eat my sandwich in small bites while I pretend not to watch him quickly and methodically eat his own food. He offers me a bag of chips, but I politely decline. He simply shrugs before tearing them open and eating them himself.

I smile fondly at him, hoping that he doesn’t notice how lovesick I am, and I pretend not to notice that he keeps staring at me.

This is what is so confusing about him. I catch him watching me all the time, but he never shows any interest in me. At least, not the way that I want him to. But still, there are times when it feels like there is something brewing between us.

We spend a lot of time together, and it is more than just studying. We talk and laugh and genuinely enjoy spending time with each other, and it feels like we could be something more, but it is impossible to tell whether Simon would want something like that.

He and I have never talked about relationship stuff. Probably because we were never close enough for that when we roomed together and because the only person who I have truly been deeply interested in is him.

It’s most likely just wishful thinking to believe that there is something growing between us, but I can’t seem to let it go.

When we return to my apartment, we study for another hour or so before I get the feeling that Simon is going to leave soon.

Seeing that he still seems really stressed, I get an idea.

“Simon,” I say softly to get his attention, and the smile he turns on me has me going weak-kneed, and I’m glad that I’m leaning against the armchair so that I don’t collapse under the weight of it.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve seemed really stressed lately, so I was thinking that maybe we should go on a spa day to help us relax.”

“A what day?” Simon asks, looking adorably confused. His nose wrinkles and eyebrows pull close together as he squints at me.

“A spa day,” I repeat.

“What is the word ‘spa’? It’s like you’re starting to say a word but you’re not finishing it.”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s trying to deflect as a way to turn me down without being rude. I’m about to tell him that it’s fine, that he can just forget about it, but he continues on.

“Are you trying to say ‘spaghetti’? Are you asking me to go on a spaghetti day?”

I raise a brow at the way that his eyes light up at the idea of that. I shake my head at him, not in answer to his question but more in disbelief. I want to be annoyed at his complete misunderstanding of what I said, but he’s starting to look excited, and I feel myself giving in before the fight even begins.

“So, you want to go for a spaghetti day?” He asks when I don’t respond.

I was sort of joking about the spa day. I didn’t seriously think that he would agree to it, but I won’t say no to going to dinner with him.

This could be what I’ve been looking for. The chance to see if there is even the slightest possibility of something happening between us.

So, I say yes to the spaghetti day, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.

***

Okay, so maybe taking Simon on a “spa” day was a bit of a mistake.

We decided on a really nice Italian restaurant to go to the day after our little study date where it’s basically a requirement to dress up in your nicest clothes, but I still half-expected Simon to show up in jeans and a t-shirt. Instead, he surprised me by showing up on my doorstep wearing dark grey dress pants and a dress shirt to match with a tie over it that’s a lighter shade of grey. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to just below his elbow, showing off his freckled arms, and he decided to forgo a jacket, but that’s all understandable considering the fact that it’s even warmer outside today than it was yesterday.

I never would have thought that Simon would look so good in grey. But boy, does he look _good_.

I practically began salivating when I opened the door to him, and it took some work to keep my eyes on his shining blue eyes.

I’m wearing my own dress suit in a lovely dark shade of green, and I slide on the jacket before grabbing my keys and meeting him back at the door. His gaze is appraising, and I try not to squirm under it, trying to ignore the way that his eyes linger in some places, trying not to get my hopes up too soon.

“Ready?” I ask, pulling his eyes back up to mine.

He nods, and we’re on our way.

Keeping both hands on the steering wheel as I drive is a struggle as I fight the urge to reach over to touch Simon. To hold his hand, to feel the warmth of his arm under his shirt, to push the hair out of his eyes.

I know he would not be too appreciative of me doing that, so I keep my hands to myself and my eyes on the road.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we are quickly led to a booth in the back. It’s dark back here, the light above our table bare illuminating the table and our menus as we look them over, but it gives us a sense of privacy.

As I look over the options, I can’t keep myself from glancing at Simon. He looks so nice, and I hate that this feels like a date when it obviously isn’t.

I wonder what we look like to the other customers. Do we look like a young couple on a date, or do we look like two friends who just needed to get out and go somewhere nice?

Can they see how much I long to touch him? Can they see the truth of the situation, or do I have them just as fooled as I have Simon?

“You don’t like tomatoes, right?” Simon asks suddenly.

I look up at him in surprised, a little disbelieving that he would know that.

He smiles and says, “I paid attention to you, you know.”

“I’m very aware of that,” I say, remembering all of those times he watched me, waiting for me to slip up and do something that would get me kicked out of the dorm so that he would no longer have to room with me. (Of course, I never did.) “I just thought you might have been paying attention to other things about me.”

He shrugs and is quiet for a moment before saying, “I was thinking that we could get a few different things and share.”

“Okay. It wouldn’t really be a spaghetti day without options.”

“Exactly. But maybe we could both choose one and then pick another one to share. That way you wouldn’t have to eat anything with tomatoes in it.”

“Sounds good,” I say, surprised again by how thoughtful he is being.

Simon ends up getting spaghetti and meatballs while I get chicken alfredo, and then we get a spinach artichoke pasta to share.

Watching him eat the bread while we wait for the various plates of pasta to arrive is what makes me think that this may have been a mistake.

He makes a big display with every bite of the over-buttered bread he takes, moaning as he chews and letting his eyes fall shut like it’s the best thing that he’s ever tasted.

It is affecting me in a way that is inappropriate for such a public space.

I force myself to focus on the condensation running down the side of my glass of water until our food arrives so that I don’t go absolutely mad with want.

The feeling doesn’t go away when our entrees arrive.

Simon is an atrocious eater, and yet, I still find myself wanting to reach across the table, wrap my hand around his tie, and then kiss him senseless.

Instead of doing that, though, I spinmy fork in my hand and look down at my barely touched plate.

It would be brainless to do something like that, and it would end our friendship in less than a few seconds. Still, I sometimes think that it might be worth it.

I twirl some noodles around my fork and take a bite, chewing it thoughtfully before looking back up at him.

He has already finished his plate of spaghetti and moved onto the spinach artichoke.

For a brief moment, I imagine reaching over to that same plate and us ending up eating it Lady and the Tramp style. Surely an “accidental” kiss wouldn’t ruin our friendship…

I shake my head at myself and take another bite from my own plate.

It is a really good alfredo, and if I were eating it by myself, I would probably have eaten at least half of it by now, but I try to be careful not to look like a pig when I’m eating in front of Simon, not wanting to make a fool of myself.

“You okay?” Simon asks after a moment, thankfully waiting until he has swallowed to speak. “You seem really quiet, pensive.

“I was just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks with an innocent curiosity.

I blush as the thought of our lips meeting over a strand of noodle reenters my mind.

In hindsight, that seems like a pretty gross way to kiss, with food trailed from one person’s mouth to another’s. It almost ruins my appetite, and I decide that I definitely don’t want our first kiss to be like that. If we were to even have one.

Simon is looking at me expectantly, so I decide to be partially honest with my answer and say, “Lady and the Tramp.”

“The movie?”

I nod.

“Cool.”

And just like that, he continues eating, none the wiser to my exact thoughts.

I finish my plate off and eat a few bites from the other plate, allowing Simon to eat as much as he wants.

When the bill arrives, I reach for it to pay seeing as I was the one who invited him out on this “spa” day, but Simon won’t let me, insisting that since he turned it into dinner that he should pay, confirming my suspicions.

He played dumb, intentionally turning this into us going out to dinner together. I just need to figure out why.

As we leave the restaurant and head towards my car, I realize that I don’t want this to end. I want to spend the rest of the night with Simon. Actually, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but that will never happen, so I have to make the most of right now.

I stop walking and turn to him right before we reach my car.

“I have a question,” I tell him.

He tilts his head to the side and peers at me curiously. “Okay. Ask me.”

“Did you just not want to go on an actual spa day or was there another reason you wanted to go to dinner instead?”

“I just really like spaghetti,” he says simply, like it’s a reasonable answer. And I suppose it is. I just hadn’t considered that option.

“Oh,” I say, my heart sinking in my chest.

Of course. I should have thought of that. Food has always been his top priority.

I nod at him and start to turn away, reaching for my pocket to grab my keys.

“Baz,” he whispers a moment before his hand wraps around my wrist. “Wait.”

I slowly turn back to him to see what he wants, attempting to mask the disappointment I feel at his answer.

“Yes, Simon?” I reply, sounding far too formal.

“I’m sure a spa day would have been fun, b-but I thought this would be better,” he admits.

“Better than what?”

“A better first date.”

“You think this was a date?” I ask, my heart starting to race.

“I-I had hoped it was. I d-don’t know.” He drops my arm and looks at the ground nervously. “I guess I wanted it to be, and when you asked me to go on a spa day, it felt like a good opportunity to turn it into something more.”

My heart stutters at the words ‘something more.’ Maybe I wasn’t imagining this thing between us.

“But you never said anything about this being a date. How was I supposed to know if it was one?”

He tears a hand through his hair and looks back up at me with a sigh. “I don’t know. I wanted to ask you if it was, but I was so worried that you would say it wasn’t that I thought it would be better to just not say anything. At least then, you couldn’t reject me.”

He’s putting into words a lot of the things that I’ve been thinking.

When we spend time together, there is always this feeling stirring between us like something is happening, but I’ve been too afraid that I was wrong about it to say anything.

I smile at him and he frowns.

“Look, I’m sorry for just assuming. We can just forget about this whole thing.”

I shake my head at him. “Simon, Simon,” I say slowly, drawing the sound out. I love the way his name feels in my mouth. “I can’t just forget about this. I want to remember it.”

“Why? So, you can go tell all your friends that I made a fool of myself and thought you would actually like me?”

It hurts that he still thinks I would do something like that, even after we’ve become friends, but I probably deserve that. I’m still pretty closed off around him, so as to protect myself from getting hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re my friend now.”

“Right. We’re just friends.”

I sigh and close my eyes for a brief moment. That isn’t quite how I meant for that to come out.

“No. I mean, we _were_ friends, but—.”

“But not now that you know how I feel about you?” He says, interrupting me.

“No, that’s not—.”

He shakes his head and turns away from me, but not before I can see the hurt in his eyes.

If he would just listen to me, he would know that I was trying to say that I don’t want us to be just friends. I want so much more than that.

I want tonight to have been a date, and I want so many more just like it.

But now, he’s starting to walk away from me, and I think that he intends to walk home rather than sit in a car with me.

I have to remedy this before it’s too late.

“Simon, wait.” It’s my turn to reach out for him.

I pull lightly on his arm, and he turns to me. He’s reluctant about it, but at least he doesn’t pull away.

I try to find the words to tell him how I feel, but my search comes up empty. How do I describe the way that I have felt about him for so long? How do I tell him that he is my whole world? Or that he’s the sun and my world revolves around him?

I don’t think I can. At least, not yet.

But I can do this: I can pull him close to me and press my lips to his.

I start out hesitant, still giving him the chance to pull away, but he presses back hungrily, tilting his head to the side and parting his lips around mine.

I let him take over the kiss, and he does this wonderful thing with his chin that has fireworks going off behind my eyelids.

I have to pull back far too soon to catch my breath, but I don’t go far, leaning my forehead against his.

“I don’t want to be just friends,” I say finally. “I want something more.”

He grins at me, and it’s almost as blinding as the sun. He’s beautiful.

“Okay,” he says with a nod, then he kisses me.

This time, the kiss quickly deepens, and I tangle one hand in his hair and fist the other around his tie as he gently leads me back until my back is up against my car.

Forget the way his name feels; his tongue feels much better in my mouth.

After a few minutes, Simon starts to pull away, probably because we’re still standing in the middle of a parking lot, but I pull him back to me.

I don’t want him to go. I never want to let him go.


End file.
